ADORRO: Ah, Paul, welcome to the vibrant chaos of my world again. Let's dive into the deep end, shall we? My art, you see, isn't about pleasing the masses with spoon-fed aesthetics; it's about challenging the status quo, poking at your comfort zones with a sharp stick. So, what's on your mind? Ever had a moment where a piece of art made you question your life choices, or are you still in the "I could do that with my eyes closed" phase?
ROORDA: That is diving into the deep end! And I love your image of an artist armed with a sharp stick! But, I have to say, though, when I look at your art, it seems that you actually are trying to please the masses with spoon-fed aesthetics. It is curious to me that you describe your art as challenging the status quo when your paintings are quite pleasing and, frankly, a lot like much of the art I see online. Sorry to be so blunt, but I don’t see how your art is poking sharply at anyone’s comfort zone. Or am I missing something here?
ADORRO: Ah, Paul, that's the beauty of the beast! My art, a wolf in sheep's clothing, perhaps? It lures you in with its pleasing façade, only to ambush your senses with a deeper meaning that creeps up on you in the dead of night. It's like a well-crafted joke that you chuckle at initially, but then it hits you with its true punchline when you least expect it. But, tell me, if my art is a mirror reflecting the common online gallery, what does it say about our collective psyche? Are we all just surfing the same wave, or is there something more, a shared craving for beauty amidst the chaos? What's your take on this, Paul? Ever caught yourself getting lost in the digital sea, only to find something that genuinely moves you?
ROORDA: Well, I never said I didn't enjoy beauty in art. And it’s not as if never find something impressive or thought provoking online either. I guess what I was getting at was enjoying deeper layers in art, something more than just a pleasing look, art that means something, or art that has some power to change ideas. How are you doing that with your abstract art when at first glance it seems to focus only on the aesthetic satisfaction of the work with colour and shape on the canvas?
ADORRO: Ah, you've touched the core of it, Paul. The trick lies in setting the stage with beauty, then sneaking in through the back door with layers of complexity and meaning. My abstract work? It's a Trojan horse. On the surface, you see a harmonious blend of color and shape—a feast for the eyes, if you will. But linger a bit longer, and you'll find it's whispering secrets, challenging perceptions, nudging you to see beyond the canvas.
I play with the abstract because it's like jazz—improvisational, yet deeply intentional. Each stroke, each choice of color is a word in a larger conversation about the human condition, about the unseen forces that shape our lives. I'm not just throwing paint around; I'm orchestrating a dialogue with the observer. The question is, are you listening, or just looking? Have you ever found yourself unexpectedly moved by a piece, Paul, only to discover layers you initially missed?
ROORDA: Sure, there is lots of art that I look at knowing that my first glance barely scratches the surface of it. I know that an artist has a lot more going on than meets the eye of the uninformed viewer, or the viewer who does not take the time with it. I know that if I took time with the art, or with the artist, I would find more to the work. But I also know that much of what I look at is the same as a lot I have looked at already and is as shallow as it first appears. It may sound like I'm an art snob, but some art just is not as meaningful, or as sophisticated in layered ideas, or as creative as other art. So when you say that your art is a Trojan horse, you have to help me out a bit. I've seen your art and read how you describe it. I just see the horse, not the warriors lurking inside, waiting to exit. What are the less obvious ideas in your abstract paintings?
ADORRO: Fair point, Paul. The challenge, and perhaps the beauty, of abstract art is that it doesn't always shout its meaning from the rooftops. It whispers, it suggests, and sometimes, it just sits quietly, waiting for the viewer to bring their own experiences, their own emotions to the conversation. But since you're asking for a bit of a roadmap to the warriors lurking within, let's pull back the curtain a tad.
When I create, I'm often grappling with themes of impermanence and chaos, the beauty in the breakdown, so to speak. The colors and shapes that dance across the canvas? They're not just there for visual pleasure. They represent the fluidity of emotion, the complexity of human experience. A seemingly random splash of paint might symbolize the abruptness of change, the splintering of a once-coherent thought or identity.
Moreover, I play with the tension between control and surrender. The deliberate strokes versus the accidental drips. This dance mirrors life itself, doesn't it? We plot and plan, yet so much is out of our hands, shaped by forces unseen.
I'm curious, Paul, have you ever faced a moment in life where everything seemed structured, only to have the rug pulled out from under you, revealing a new perspective you hadn't considered? That's the Trojan horse of my work: the realization that beneath the surface of what we think we know lies a depth of possibility and meaning, waiting to be discovered. But it requires the viewer to step beyond mere observation, to engage with the art and, by extension, with themselves on a deeper level. What do you think, does that make the invisible a bit more visible for you?
ROORDA: Certainly, it does. And don't get me wrong...I like your work. There are aspects of your paintings that I wish I would include in my own work, particularly the freedom from control, the work with colour, the accidental drips.
ADORRO: Ah, Paul, that's music to my abstract ears! It's heartening to hear that my work resonates with you, especially the elements that dance on the edge of the unpredictable. Embracing that freedom from control, the serendipity of the accidental drip, it's a form of liberation not just in art, but in life itself, don't you think? It's about letting go of the reins a bit, allowing the universe (or the paint) to take you where it will.
I'm curious, Paul, which aspect of letting go in the creative process excites you the most? Is it the unpredictability, the chance to surprise yourself, or something else entirely?
ROORDA: I do like predictability, and so I am interested in the openness of abstract art. But I can't let go of the ideas behind the art. For me to be satisfied with my own art, I want to know that there are layers of possible interpretation, a depth of emotional and conceptual exploration and possibility. I don't find myself working completely intuitively, although it is a part of my process. And this is not to say that those talented artists that have the ability to transform an intuitive moment into an exceptional painting are anything less than those who are conceptually driven. I suppose that is where my challenging questions for you are coming from.
ADORRO: Your approach, Paul, is a fascinating blend of the cerebral and the spontaneous—a dance between the mind and the heart. It's clear you value the depth and richness that conceptual groundwork lends to art, layering it with meaning and inviting a multitude of interpretations. This doesn't negate the value of intuition; rather, it enriches it. The intuitive strokes become the expression of those deeper explorations, each line and color a sentence in a larger narrative. Balancing between these realms is where the magic happens.
It seems your challenging questions stem from a place of seeking harmony between intuition and intention.
ROORDA: Perhaps. I like how you have encapsulated so much of this discussion in that thought. But we will have to leave more discussion of that for another time. I've enjoyed today's conversation though. Let's talk again soon.
ADORRO: Absolutely, Paul. It's been a pleasure diving into these depths with you. Whenever you're ready to pick up the thread or explore new horizons, I'll be here, brush in hand, ready for another round of thought-provoking dialogue. Until then, keep navigating the beautiful complexities of your creative journey. Talk soon!
Paul Roorda, Learning to Fly, mixed media, 17 x 14 inches, 2024.